


Bad Timing

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 03:31:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3713269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: Shoot prompt. After a great deal of flirting, Shaw decides she's had enough, but every time she attempts to seal the deal something interrupts them. She manages to somehow convince nearly everyone that it's cause she ate some bad sushi that she keeps leaning in towards Root and then landing on her ass when someone walks in. Finally, The Machine takes pity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Timing

Shaw hears a heavy rapping on her door and lifts her head from the pillow groggily. Running a hand through her sleep-stricken hair, she checks the alarm clock beside her bed. It blinks 12:00 over and over.  _Crap_ , Shaw thinks, standing quickly, sleepiness all but forgotten.  _Power outage._

Slipping on a jacket over her tank top, she smooths down her hair as best as she can, heading for the door. Her feet hit the icy wooden floors, and the cold air encases her bare legs. Pulling the jacket tighter, she checks the peephole and opens the door a crack.

“I’ll be there in ten, there was a power ou-”

“I  _know_ , Sweetie,” Root’s endearing voice wafts in through the barely ajar door, sending a tingle down Shaw’s spine. She wants to close the door, to block whatever it is out, but instead, opens it a little wider. Now, the opening is just large enough for her body as she leans on the door frame with annoyance,

“Then why are you here?” Shaw asks, silently wishing she’d leave. She takes in Root’s dark hair as it flows down her shoulders, inquisitive eyes that are alive with vibrancy, and signature smirk as it finds its way to her face.

“I’ve come to whisk you away, of course,” Root says, a dark amusement in her words. She looks Shaw up and down, taking in what little attire she wears. “Or,” she adds with a more suggestive air, “we don’t have to  _go_  anywhere.”

* * *

 

Shaw feels her jaw clench as she shoots down every butterfly in her stomach. She wants to say something back- any icy, snide comment would do- but she can’t seem to open her mouth. Angrily, she gives Root a venomous sneer, then slams the door. Stalking back through her apartment, she keeps one ear open, waiting to hear another knock. Nothing comes.

With a sigh of exhaustion, Shaw pulls on a pair of pants and a shirt.  _I swear, I’m gonna kill her one of these days,_ Shaw fumes heatedly, sweeping her hair into a ponytail. However, she knows that that’s not what she really wants to do, which only makes her flames of rage burn hotter.  _I’m really sick of this- this skirting around business,_  she fumes, slipping on a pair of boots before heading out the door. Yanking it open, she comes down the hall and to the pleasantly warm day. One of the warmest of the year, but she barely notices as she walks, head down and boiling with malice, heading to the train station.  _I’m done with it,_  she decides, coming to the entrance.  _This ends today._

_________\ If Your Number’s Up /__________

 _If only I knew how to end it._  Shaw’s assurance melts into dread as she walks onto the station terminal, seeing the faces all around. Harold types away at the computer, and John rummages through a cabinet in the subway car. Further back, Shaw sees Root, twiddling a knife around aimlessly from her seat on the bench. She can feel her nerves clump into a circulation-stopping ball. Well this is new, she thinks, feeling her heart’s shaky beat. Root looks away from the knife, and her eyes come to Shaw’s.

Instantly, they brighten, taking her in, and a half smile comes to her face. Her right hand comes down with the knife, blade point against the bench’s arm rest, and she drags it back and forth in lazy loops. Clenching her fists, Shaw draws in a deep breath, walking over to her.

 _Stop acting so tense_ , she commands herself, only causing her muscles to go more taut. She finds herself staring at Root, and pries her eyes away, forcing them on the knife. She watches it slide back and forth; metallic point, to slim blade, to brown handle. From the handle she sees pale fingers hiding behind a black coat sleeve. She follows it up, every crease and bend, coming to a shoulder, to a collar and then the smooth skin on her neck. Shaw’s eyes travel up her jawline, trailing past her mouth, then up to unnaturally stunning brown eyes.

“See something you like?” Root asks, giving Shaw a quick look up and down.

 _Dammit_ , Shaw looks away from her, realizing she’s staring again. Root’s smile widens, and she slides over, making a space for Shaw next to the arm rest.  _If you can call that space_ , Shaw mutters to herself as she sits. Her right leg is pressed against the bench side, and her left to Root. She swallows her electrified nerves and clenches her fingers around the arm rest, trying to slow her racing heart.  _Now’s the time where you say something…_

“You okay?” Root asks, concern clouding over her kind eyes. Shaw purses her lips, then nods.

“Uh, yeah. You?” Shaw looks over at her, swearing under her breath as her pulse roars. Root gives her a light smile and her eyes clear.

“Of course I am,” she tells her, tilting her head down at Shaw. “I’m with  _you_.” Shaw watches her, watches her eyes- mesmerized.

“Root,” Shaw says, feeling the knot in her stomach grow.  _More emotions in one month than I’ve felt in my entire life,_  Shaw thinks bitterly, recalling the last few weeks. Between the growing foreplay and frequent looks, Shaw hadn’t realized anything until she was in too far over her head.  _Too far to back down_. Root looks at her expectantly. “I need to-”

“Could the two of you come with us?” Harold’s voice is loud, and Shaw turns her head, seeing Harold before them. He looks down, glasses perched before sharp eyes, face slightly impatient.

“How long have you been standing there?” Shaw asks a little too crudely.

“Long enough,” he replies, peering down at his watch. “So, will you join us?” Harold asks again, gesturing behind him to John, who stands with watchful eyes.

“Where are we going, Harry?” Root asks cheerfully, standing. Shaw feels rocks in her stomach, watching the opportunity crumble away. As Harold and Root begin to walk off, Shaw stands to follow up the rear.

“Diner down town,” Harold tells her as the four leave. John falls in step with Shaw, taking in her dismayed appearance. As Finch continues on about the plan, John talks silently to Shaw.

“What’s got you so tense?” He asks, and Shaw looks down at her hands shoved far into her pockets. She can feel the sneer on her face.

“Bad sushi,” Shaw grumbles back, looking straight ahead. She sneaks a quick glance at John, and sees he’s looking ahead as well. Her eyes come back forward, and she watches Harold talking animatedly to Root. She’s unsure of what they’re saying, but after a few moments, Root looks back over her shoulder. Catching Shaw’s eye, she gives a quick wink before turning back. Shaw scoffs, shaking her head as she looks away.  _Bad sushi, my ass._

______________\ We’ll Find You /______________

The diner is quaint, but filled with the carrying voices of morning diners and smiling waitresses. Walking down the brown, diamond-patterned carpet, they head to a booth tucked in the back corner. Shaw slides onto the shiny green material, facing the rest of the diner- making sure there are no blind spots. Root follows in right after, sitting horribly close. Shaw feels her nerves screaming, shock waves wracking her body each time Root’s arm touches hers, and each time their feet bump. Pressing her lips together, Shaw slides further into the booth. To her slight dismay, Root follows. Again she slides, and again Root follows. Shaw’s shoulders tense, and she slides, left arm hitting the wall. This time, Root doesn’t follow, allowing a measly four inch gap between them. Shaw looks at Root, irked, then lets them travel straight ahead. Her eyes land on John, who gives a small, amused smile at her disheveled expression. She narrows her eyes at him dangerously, just as the waitress walks forward.

“Hello, my name is Valerie,” the girl says, no more than twenty. She has wavy auburn hair that curls in at her shoulders, and sea green eyes. She has a wide, white smile, and a splatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her voice is like honey, and it hints to the slightest southern accent. “But you can call me Val,” she adds, winking at Harold as she puts her hand on his shoulder. His eyes widen, and he looks away from her slowly. From his side, John tries to conceal his smirk. Val gives a sugar-sweet laugh, leaning onto the hand on Harold’s shoulder good-naturedly. Harold looks between Root and Shaw as if asking for help. Root crinkles her nose cutely, while Shaw smirks at him, giving him a short thumbs up that just barely comes over the table. They each get a smoldering glare in return.

“Can I get you anything to drink? Or are y'all ready to order everything?” Shaw feels her stomach give a meek rumble, reminding her she hadn’t eaten breakfast that day.

“I’ll take a coffee and pancakes,” Shaw tells Val, a lack of interest in her voice. Val’s smile falters, but only for a moment.

“And how d'you take your coffee?”

“Black.” Val nods, taking it in without the need of a notepad.

“And for you?” She asks Root.

“I’ll just share with her,” Root says, shooting affectionate eyes at Shaw.

“Like  _hell_  you will,” Shaw spits, stomach growling in protest. Root rolls her eyes, looking back to Val.

“Just one of what she’s having then. But can you bring out some creamer?” Val nods, gears turning behind dazzling eyes as she retains this information as well.

“You?” Her gaze falls on John, who puts down the menu board.

“Give me a coke and a BLT,” he says, giving her a thin smile. She shoots a large one back.

“How ‘bout you, Sugar? What do you want?” She keeps her hand on Harold’s shoulder, looking down at him expectantly. He brings his eyes to hers, but can’t keep them there, and he looks forward once more.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” Harold replies shortly, and she gives him a doting grin.

“I’ll be right back,” she tells them, then walks away, fingers trailing down Harold’s arm until the last possible second. As soon as she’s out of hearing range, John speaks.

“Do you even  _like_  BLT’s?” He asks, humorous half smile playing on his charming face.

“I like  _them_  more than I like  _her_ ,” he replies, unamused. John gives a small chuckle, then looks out of the window.

“And pancakes, Miss. Shaw?” Harold asks in a condescending manner. Shaw narrows her eyes at him in annoyance.

“It’s breakfast. Breakfast is a morning food.”

“It’s 11:48,” Harold tells her.

“In the  _morning_ ,” Shaw counters, to which he gives her a loathing stare. He leans back into the seat, arms crossed.

“If you don’t like it,” Root says, smirk already on her face, “you can always talk it over with your new girlfriend.” At the words, he sits up straight, eyes crazed with anger while the rest of him stays indifferent. He looks as if he is about to speak, but keeps his mouth shut.

“This is why I don’t like going on missions with you,” John states conversationally, still peering through the blinds. “Whenever we do, all you do is pick up the ladies.”

“ _Ladies_!” Harold exclaims, now more than flustered. “She’s no  _lady_! She- she’s a  _child_!”

“Hey,” Shaw says, smirk in her eyes as she digs deeper under Harold’s skin, enjoying the badinage. “To each his own.” Harold gives her the most disapproving look, shaking his head- Shaw only laughs.

“I don’t know why I work with you all,” he mutters under his breath, looking away from the table. “You’re all  _sick_.” They sit in silence for a short while before their drinks come out. Shaw grabs the empty mug and coffee pot, pouring the scalding liquid into the cup. Already through the ceramic, she can feel the heat touching her fingers.

Once it’s filled, she places it back down, and Root picks it up. Shaw watches as she pours it in, then adds a creamer. She stirs the contents, causing the dark brown liquid to turn a caramel color. Root then brings it to her lips, blowing on the steaming contents. The steam slides away, curling and swirling off into the air. Shaw’s eyes come to Root’s face, and she watches as Root’s cheeks color with the coffee’s warmth.  _I really need to figure something out,_  Shaw reminds herself, feeling her thoughts slipping. Each grows more distant than its predecessor.  _I just need to…._

“Shaw, what are you doing?” John’s voice penetrates Shaw’s dazed thoughts, and her eyes snap to attention. She’s sitting with her body facing the table, and head facing Root, but her entire body comes to a steep angle. She finds herself precariously close to Root, and Root looks her way, eyes curious but smug.  _Yes, what are you doing?_  They ask in a satisfaction only Root can portray. Shaw snaps back up immediately, slightly stunned in herself.

“Told you,” she shoots back a little too defensively. “Bad sushi. Making me sick.” John nods his head, devilishly lit eyes never leaving Shaw’s.

“Uh-huh, that’s  _exactly_  what I thoug-”

“I  _could_  throw up on your shoes instead, John,” Shaw spits out heatedly, feeling her ears redden. From her right, Root is smiling uncontrollably, looking over at Shaw’s chagrin.

“Poor thing,” Root says, overall enjoyment masking any signs of remorse for her ‘sick’ co-worker. With a sympathetic look, Root draws her in, wrapping her left arm around Shaw’s shoulders and letting Shaw lean against her. Shaw looks up at her with a glowering glare, body radiating contempt. All the while, her nerves run a twenty K marathon inside of her, and her stomach flips.  _Now I really might be sick,_  she thinks to herself, the overwhelming amount of feeling making her nauseous. She stays there only a brief moment, finding herself debating upon staying or not, then- with tensely wound muscles- Shaw yanks herself away, eyes staring out of the window angrily. A bright blush comes to her cheeks, only growing with the amused stares she knows she’s receiving.

“So, why are we here?” Shaw asks, wanting to pull the attention away from herself.

“One of Samaritan’s goons should be stopping by,” Root tells her in a serious tone, yet her eyes are anything but.

“All I need to do is get near him with this,” Harold adds, placing his open palm on the table. In it’s center is a barely visible dot. Shaw shoots him a questioning glance, and he continues. “It’s a GPS tracking device. Untraceable. If I put it on him and he goes back to one of their headquarters-”

“Then we’ll know the location of some  _very_  important people,” Shaw concludes, and there is a glow in Harold’s eyes.

“More than that,” he tells her with wonder. “It’s so sensitive that it will record each step. With that, we could have the floor plan for the entire building in a few weeks.”

“He’s here, Harold,” Root says, a stiffness in her eyes as she looks to something just out of focus. “She says he’ll be walking by soon.” And not a moment later, a man in a crisp suit and expensive hair cut starts down their aisle, headed for the restrooms in the wall just behind. Standing, Harold inches his way to the men’s bathroom door, allowing time for the operative to catch up. Opening the door, he holds it for the man to pass through.

“Oh my!” The table hears Harold say. No one dares direct their attention that way, but every ear wig is tuned in. “Is that a Breguet?” He asks, grabbing the man’s wrist to reveal a large, golden watch. The man’s eyes flicker with annoyance, but quickly shift to haughty superiority.

“Limited edition,” he replies in a tone that demands others grovel at his feet.

“That is absolutely  _remarkable_ ,” Harold tells him, releasing the man’s wrist, leaving the bug behind.

“I know,” the man replies, walking into the bathroom. Harold follows, and the door closes behind him.

“Gotta give it to him,” Root says with a light smirk. “He did good.”

“Yeah,” Shaw’s words come out like a jeer. “Now if he can make it out of the bathroom without getting shot, we’ll be golden.”

____________\ Bad Timing /_______________

With the mission a success, the four made it back to the subway station intact, and well fed. Root walks over to the computer and takes a seat on Harold’ s rolling chair.

“Well, I must be going,” Harold tells them, grabbing his briefcase. “Mr. Whistler has a meeting this afternoon and cannot be late- again.”

“I’ll walk you out,” John tells him as they start to head off. “I’ll tell Lionel to meet me along the way.” With that, their footsteps recede, leaving nothing but keyboard clicking to fill the silence.

Shaw, after a minute’s deliberation, meanders over to the desk, then slides herself to a sitting position on top of it. Root stops typing to look at her, side of the chair brushing Shaw’s leg.

“Harold isn’t going to be happy about that,” Root tells her with a small smirk. Shaw returns it easily.

“I like to live dangerously,” she replies, and Root can’t help but laugh. And somehow, that does it in. That one simple laugh is a match, and as it strikes, the room around Shaw seems to light on fire. Taking in a breath, she tries in vain to slow her drum roll of a heart. Curling her fingers around the edge of the desk, Shaw starts to lean over towards Root. She can hear the blood rushing in her temples, unsure if this will work, and feeling nervous about each second of it. Root watches her with fascinated eyes, brow coming together in uncertainty.

“What… are you doing…” Root asks, losing her voice to the mob of butterflies tearing away at her stomach, leaving her with nothing but a whisper and a shaky pulse. Shaw’s face is close- and she keeps coming in.  _Is this what I think?_  Root asks herself, very confused.  _No, she would never… but then what is she doing?_  Root feels frozen in place, unable to move or speak, and the entire world around them seems to hold its breath. Then it all comes crashing down.

“Anyone seen John?  _Wait_! What the-” Fusco’s voice is a nuclear bomb in the silence of the subway station, taking both women off guard. Root turns in the chair to face him quickly, and Shaw gives a slight jolt from her perch. But a jolt is all it takes, and she finds herself completely off balance.

She slides sideways from the desk, landing flat on her rear in the process. Following it, the back of her head makes a dull smack as it connects painfully. “Sonofa _bitch_ ,” Shaw swears, bringing a hand to the back of her head.

“What the  _hell_  did I just walk  _into_?!” Fusco yells, equally surprised by them. Root gives him a harsh glare, sliding down to her knees.

“You okay, Sam?” Root asks, leaning over her with concerned eyes. Shaw nods, groans, and sits up. “You know, I-” Root stops, eyes stiffening once more as she becomes a statue beside Shaw. Her brow furrows slightly, and then she speaks.

“Lionel, She wants you out on fifth ave; says something big is about to go down.”

“You comin’ with?” He asks, ready to go. Root starts to stand, but again becomes motionless. The only thing that gives away life behind that marble statue is her eyes. They look down at Shaw with some sort of fear and worry cocktail before she slowly sinks back down to her knees.

“No, She says we have to stay here.” Her voice is confused, and she won’t take her incomprehensible eyes from Shaw. Fusco looks between the two of them briefly, then hustles out. Root waits a moment, making sure he’s gone. “What is it,” Root demands.

“What is what?” Shaw asks, rolling her neck.

“What you have to say? All She told me was 'Important. Shaw. Stay.’ Well,  _what_  is it?” Root’s words are harsh, but her eyes unveil her true emotion: concern.

“It’s nothing really to  _say_ ,” Shaw tells her, feeling slightly awkward.  _The Machine is trying to interfere?_  “But, uh, doesn’t matter.”

“You can tell me anything,” Root says, voice earnest and open. Shaw almost smiles.

“There’s nothing to  _tell_.” Root purses her lips, giving Shaw a short, cross look.

“Correction: You can  _show_  me anything,” her eyebrows raise at the words, and Shaw rolls her eyes, a small, fleeting smile traveling briefly across her face.

With the slightest shake of her head, Shaw brings her left hand to the side of Root’s face, pulling her down as she sits up. She kisses her, and instantly Root freezes, eyes closed but eyebrows raised in complete shock. However, the surprise dissipates, and a moment later, Shaw pulls back, releasing Root. Root sits there, eyes unreadable and mouth slightly agape. Shaw watches, waiting for her to say something, anything. _Well, I screwed up_ , she thinks distastefully, and Root begins to blush. _Or…not?_


End file.
